


Edward's Death

by writteninhaste



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-07
Updated: 2010-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:59:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninhaste/pseuds/writteninhaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Death's End Challenge at PDS</p>
            </blockquote>





	Edward's Death

He was tired. He had done this so well for so long, but he had finally used up all his reserves. He hadn't thought he would ever burnout. He was good at what he did, the proof was everywhere you looked. From the fear that swept the preternatural community at the sound of his name, to the vast sums of money people paid him. He was the best, no-one disputed that, but he was tired.

He had begun to play Ted more than he was Edward. Ted was a reprieve. Ted was a good ol' boy – one with traditional values and a southern drawl. Ted wasn't a killing machine, sure he was a bounty hunter but he didn't live for the kills. He had friends, family, people to go home to at night.

He looked at the Berretta lying in his hands. It was the first model of gun he ever fired – it had been his favourite ever since. Anita had her Browning, he had his Berretta – to each their own. Anita. He wondered what she would think of all this. Death sitting in the middle of the desert, waxing philosophical about life. She'd either laugh herself sick, or hold a gun to his head and ask what he'd done with the real Edward.

The truth was, he didn't know what had happened to Edward. Day by day, he seemed to be slipping further and further into the background. Ted was taking control. His two personas had switched roles. Ted had ceased to be the mask he wore and had become the person he wanted to be. Edward, the heartless assassin, was a façade he had to pull on each time he accepted a kill. It was becoming harder and harder to do.

He didn't know when he had lost Edward, and he still didn't know if he was glad that he had. He turned the gun over and over in his hands and sighed. Anita had once told him that he played the parts of Ted and Edward too well for one to be a complete lie, each had to have a modicum of truth – and she was right. Ted had been the part of himself that he had carved out and left dying on the floor. But somehow, Ted had wormed his way back in – he was no longer just a face, he was someone he wanted to be.

He was tired of the hunts – each one was the same. He was tired of the kills – they weren't enjoyable anymore. He was tired of being the thing that went bump in the night. He was tired of being Death.

He knew that if he chose to bow out, someone would come gunning for him. Someone would try to prove themself by killing Death. But he couldn't summon the energy to care. The part of his heart, which he had tried to hard to shred, was slowly knitting itself back together again. And it wanted out. It wanted to go home and curl itself up around someone who loved it. It didn't want to kill anymore. He didn't want to kill anymore.

Kneeling in the hard sand, he began to dig. A small hole no more than a foot in diameter and only half as deep. He dug with his hands, breaking skin and nails. When he was done, he reached over to where he had laid his gun and picked it up. Giving it one last look, he dropped it into the hole. Covering it up again, he stood, placing a white cowboy hat on his head.

Edward was dead, but Ted's life was just beginning.


End file.
